The Basic Principles of Georgos / A King He Was Not!!!
georgos didn't talk much. he preferred to abuse the cats with his walking stick in a constant battle to insure the house was filled with voltage. an electricity the elderly man needed to keep to run his dying machine.
"i do remember he smelt really fucking bad, like rotten still born birds and musk pods. when i used to play with trans formers as a child, my grandmothers rotten teeth smiling across the living room of an old plantation style house, i would see him come in after his walk with a suit and tie on."
this was his usual attire [pause to smoke my wooden skull imprinted pipe and mix more blue drink], a 50s style working mans suit with a hat that made him resemble an elder sinatra or a ww2 warcamp prisoner. a prisoner from 1945 being tormented by sadistic game keepers; dressed eleborate before the dogs were fed. a dressed present for the starving mutts.
every move he made seemed experimental, as if he were learning a new path each time to That location. That being defined as his new haunt (because it seemed, just by his presence, that something dark was behind you, that blanket some people spread like tendrals of deep sea jelly fish.).
"the worst part was his smell. i had ran into his room one day and seen him sitting on his bed. the smoke burned my nose the same way it did when i burnt ants with my magnifying glass. in just his underware, about 5'10 and 65 pounds, staring at the space in front of his eyes he didn't even know i was there."
when he was younger, he was still as strange as he was near his death.
next time: The Aesthetic Feautures of Georgos or How Wine was Turned to Rubber
georgos didn't talk much. he preferred to abuse the cats with his walking stick in a constant battle to insure the house was filled with voltage. an electricity the elderly man needed to keep to run his dying machine.
"i do remember he smelt really fucking bad, like rotten still born birds and musk pods. when i used to play with trans formers as a child, my grandmothers rotten teeth smiling across the living room of an old plantation style house, i would see him come in after his walk with a suit and tie on."
this was his usual attire [pause to smoke my wooden skull imprinted pipe and mix more blue drink], a 50s style working mans suit with a hat that made him resemble an elder sinatra or a ww2 warcamp prisoner. a prisoner from 1945 being tormented by sadistic game keepers; dressed eleborate before the dogs were fed. a dressed present for the starving mutts.
every move he made seemed experimental, as if he were learning a new path each time to That location. That being defined as his new haunt (because it seemed, just by his presence, that something dark was behind you, that blanket some people spread like tendrals of deep sea jelly fish.).
"the worst part was his smell. i had ran into his room one day and seen him sitting on his bed. the smoke burned my nose the same way it did when i burnt ants with my magnifying glass. in just his underware, about 5'10 and 65 pounds, staring at the space in front of his eyes he didn't even know i was there."
when he was younger, he was still as strange as he was near his death.
next time: The Aesthetic Feautures of Georgos or How Wine was Turned to Rubber